


Interesting

by Kaoru_chibimaster



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Growing Up, M/M, Timeline, it's a little depressing at the end, lots of focus on ignoct
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 06:38:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12382908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaoru_chibimaster/pseuds/Kaoru_chibimaster
Summary: The prince was an interesting person. Not at all what Ignis expected.





	Interesting

**Author's Note:**

> *shrugs* I don't know why I wrote this.

The prince was an interesting person. Not at all what Ignis expected. When he envisioned a prince, he thought of a strong, formal figure on a gleaming chocobo, ready to bask in the affections of his future kingdom. He envisioned a miniature of the king, a figure that would soon grow into the sort of majesty that his father exuded, offset only by his boyish charms and free spirit. He envisioned a smart, handy lad with a gentleness and care for those around him, fully aware of his position and the influence he held over his people. He imagined a story book prince from the fairy tales his grandmother read him, the sort of prince that lived far off and embodied all that was good.

What he got was an antsy three year old laden with heavy, expensive black robes, picking at the seams and bouncing from foot to foot as he ignored the adults around him, clearly uninterested in what they had to say. Small and pale and fragile, his black locks covering his eyes until he was finally asked to look up (by his father, the king, who shouldn’t have to tell his own son to have proper decorum!) and Ignis was assaulted with an endearing baby blue that peered straight into him and stripped him of his title and status, relegating him to a station he’d previously found to be beneath him: that of an ordinary boy.

“Hi!” the prince had squeaked in his too high voice, raising his too tiny hand to wave a too casual greeting at Ignis. Immediately he wondered if they’d sent him to the wrong person. This small, loud creature couldn’t possibly be Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, 114th heir to the Lucian throne!

And yet when Ignis turned to protest, he was instead pushed forward, encouraged to greet the little boy with the proper respect. On an aesthetic level, Noctis couldn’t have been anyone but the prince. He looked too much like the king that stood before him, held the eyes of the queen Ignis had seen in pictures and on the television before, held the gentle features only the royal line was known to possess, and was treated with too much care to have been some random child. And when he turned to the king and called him ‘Dad’ (Dad! Of all the things…!) and was only met with a fond smile and a light ruffle of his hair, Ignis knew he’d be foolish to deny that this boy was the prince. And so he greeted him the respect the prince had earned through the simple act of being born; a flimsy, empty sort of respect that had no grounds and could easily be stamped out. Ignis had done as expected of a Scientia noble child, had bowed and properly addressed the prince. Had called him ‘Your Highness’ through pouted lips and petulant tone. Had come to the conclusion that this meeting was all there was to it and that he’d be assigned to some useful task within the citadel that could make good use of his talents. The ones that he’d been preened over, lavished with. The ones that told him he’d be a great man someday.

As it turned out, he was given that task. Personal advisor to the prince.

He’d wondered if he could run off and become a vagabond.

-o-o-o-o-

When it truly came down to it, Ignis appreciated his job. He’d learned through trial and error what was allowed and what was restricted. He’d stumbled across valuable information that his peers did not have access to and used it as a means to get ahead in his studies. Underhanded? Possibly. But Ignis had learned throughout his year-long stay at the citadel that his position was a lucrative one and that if he wanted to keep it, he needed to prove himself useful. That meant being better than the other noble children, smarter than the council’s children, and most importantly of all, the most useful to the prince.

Though he found that he didn’t really understand _why_ someone would want to spend their every waking hour with His Highness. He was a hyper thing, running through the halls of the citadel chatting the staff’s ears off, bothering the crownsguard and gluing himself to the marshal’s side whenever he caught sight of the man. Marshal Leonis never showed any sign of discontent at Prince Noctis’ behavior but Ignis was certain he must’ve felt at least somewhat annoyed every time the black-haired boy pranced up to him, demanding to be held. The king, for that matter, only let the prince’s behavior continue. He would smile when he saw Prince Noctis getting into messes he ought not to or practically running the servants down to talk about meaningless things with them. He even had the gall to distract Ignis from his studies, attempting to coax him into playing.

Ignis had no time to play. He had to make a king out of this boy.

“Iggy, you work too much. Play with me,” he’d try again as Ignis sat at his desk, looking over the worksheets his tutor had given him. He’d brushed the prince off, told him stiffly that he wasn’t interested and intended on leaving it at that. If there was one thing he’d quickly learned about Prince Noctis, however, it was that the child was stubborn.

“Why not?” he grumped, stamping his foot. Ignis, thinking he was being clever, tried to turn the situation around on Prince Noctis.

“Why should I? You’ve given me no reason to believe that playing is beneficial to my learning,” he’d said, feeling proud of himself for sounding so much like his uncle when he spoke. Prince Noctis only frowned harder.

“Because you’re a kid! When are you gonna get to play when you’re a grownup?”

They had been innocent words from an innocent mouth. Ignis doubted the weight of their meaning had even crossed the prince’s mind in any impactful sort of way. But they shook Ignis to the core. He wouldn’t be a child forever. Eventually, he was going to grow up and he would never have the chance to be a kid again. He’d thought to reason that being a child was no excuse for slacking off from his duties. But he was ahead in everything. He always got his assignments done and paid attention during lessons and looked out for the prince. Why couldn’t he do something for himself for once?

That day, he gave in to the prince’s demands, earning himself a wide, toothy smile from the younger boy. And the next day he did the same. And the next, and the next…

He realized, after a few months of learning to be a child again, that he had found a friend in Prince Noctis. He certainly never expected that.

-o-o-o-o-

Ignis couldn’t recall most of the months after the attack. He felt vague sensations and muted emotions. Everything was moving too fast and too slow all at the same time. His uncle had roused him from his sleep the night Noctis’ broken, bloodied body was brought into the citadel. He’d waited outside the door as healers attempted to piece him back together. He’d walked to the prince’s bedside, watching his unmoving face with wide eyes as he learned from the drooping form of the king that no one knew when he would wake up. Beyond that was a blur.

Noctis had become such a large part of his life by this point that Ignis was a bit lost without him in it. He knew he’d visit Noctis every day, he knew when he left that he would continue his studies, he knew he received worried looks from the adults around the citadel who had no clue how to comfort him. He didn’t want their comfort. He wanted Noctis to be better. Fixed. Unbroken.

When the prince awoke, he wasn’t the prince. His bright, curious eyes were replaced with a dead, haunted, shadowed look. He barely responded to others; this child who—only a few weeks before—could talk for hours about whatever came to his mind. He’d been so excitable, bouncing down the halls, running around the gardens, skipping through the grounds. Now he might never walk again. A stranger sat in that bed, staring blankly ahead as life continued around him. Jumping away from the touches of anyone other than his father. Crying in his sleep when he wasn’t waking up screaming, gasping for breath as he grabbed at either his back or his leg. Sometimes both. Ignis, regrettably, almost found himself glad when this stranger was taken away. Whisked off to Tenebrae for the royal family to heal. Outwardly, Ignis hoped that Noctis would get well so that he could walk again. Inwardly, Ignis just wanted his best friend back.

When Noctis did return, Ignis found an emotionally exhausted child hobbling on crutches towards him, trying in vain to hide the pain of watching people die (again) from his eyes.

-o-o-o-o-

Puberty was an interesting affair.

Ignis stared at his reflection in the mirror with an exasperated look on his face. Said face was oily no matter what Ignis did, a result of the stress he was often under, his uncle had told him, and he found himself only barely holding back from popping the pimples that dotted his cheeks and forehead. He knew it would result in scars if he messed with them, but by the Six he was tired of looking at them.

At the very least, he was thankful he was past the stage Noctis was currently suffering through. The voice cracking.

“Specs, I’m heading to the kitc—” Noctis paused for a moment, clearing his throat as his cheeks flushed red. “I’m heading to the kitchens for a snack. Want anything?”

Ignis shook his head, knowing full well that Noctis would be digging through cupboards for sweets and pastries. The sorts of foods that would only worsen Ignis’ breakout. He grimaced at the mere thought of _more_ acne.

Gods he couldn’t wait for this to be over.

-o-o-o-o-

Though at seventeen, Ignis wasn’t quite out of the throws of puberty yet. But he had gotten over the oily skin phase, and the feeling too big in his own skin phase, and the… _interesting_ dreams as well as the messes they left in his sheets phase. Instead, he watched sympathetically as Noctis went through it behind him. The prince was often rubbing at his face as he lamented how gross he felt, or glared accusingly at his clothing as he shot out of them in height and body composition. He bemoaned the new responsibilities that came with growing up, leaning against his hand as he spilled his troubles to Ignis. How he wished for more freedom, and then found it lacking when he received it. How he’d gotten his own place and found, to his and no one else’s surprise, that he had no clue how to take care of himself. How he’d still have to go back to the citadel everyday so that Gladio could whack him with a sword and his father could drill the magic of the crystal into his skull. So he could watch that very same father quickly age past his years as that very same magic drained the life from his body. The burden of growing up was far harder on Noctis who, at fifteen, was expected to rule a kingdom eventually. And for a Lucian heir, ‘eventually’ was always far sooner than they wanted it to be.

Needless to say, Noctis was far more stressed at fifteen than Ignis could have even come close to. It had started as a surly moping. A daily complaint about whatever was going on in life that didn’t cater to his mood. The littering of trash around the apartment in a showcase of behavior that Ignis knew Noctis knew better than to act upon but wasn’t sure how to avert. The result of being spoiled, no doubt. A bad habit that bled into the rest of his life when his grades started to slip and his training started to stagnate and his excursions to the arcade with Prompto started to increase in both frequency and duration. A few hormonally charged arguments he’d attempted to start with Ignis but never got very far with when the advisor refused to rise to the bait. A few missed dinners with his father.

Ignis had waited as patiently as he could for the inevitable explosion. He wanted Noctis to get everything out of his system so that he could return to his normal duties. Ignis would happily be there for Noctis to pour his feelings out to. He would hold the prince’s hand through it to let him know that he wasn’t alone, that Ignis would always be there to help him through whatever turmoil he was facing.

Much to the older boy’s surprise, Noctis’ bad mood had simply deflated. There had been all of one small outburst and then it had fizzled, leaving Noctis slowly mellowing out as he turned his attitude around. He started cleaning up after himself more, had started focusing on his school work and his princely duties again, had stopped picking fights with Ignis (and Gladio, he’d later learned), had stopped releasing all his aggression at the arcade as Prompto watched worriedly. He’d become more involved with extra-curricular activities, had started becoming more active in the wellbeing of the city and its inhabitants, had even started a part-time job to teach himself responsibility. Ignis’ initial surprise had morphed into pride as he watched Noctis come into himself. Better himself. And he stayed by the prince’s side through every bit of it, encouraging the after school meet ups with his classmates and the volunteer work outside of the city, searching up jobs for him where he could be inconspicuous, and staying with him at nights when he needed a study partner and Prompto couldn’t provide, unheeding of the work Ignis himself had yet to take care of.

It was all worth it for those beaming smiles he earned from his prince. The ones that warmed his chest and made his pulse quicken.

-o-o-o-o-

It was in watching Noctis’ training with Gladiolus that Ignis realized that he had a problem.

He’d let his eyes trail over the prince’s body, following the streaks of sweat on his skin as it beaded into droplets and traveled shamelessly down his body, matting his hair and soaking his shirt. He’d let his eyes linger on the hollow at Noctis’ throat, the prominence of his collar bone as the sweat pooled. The usual milkiness of his skin shining bright with rosy tinge from exertion, the blue of his eyes gleaming with challenge, taunting his shield as he phased through the larger man’s attacks. The way his chest heaved with heavy breaths, his muscles defined from nine years of honing his skills as his shirt clung to his skin. His nipples peaked under the fabric as the cold air of the training room clashed with his heated skin.

Oh yes. Ignis had a problem.

He’d known Noctis was attractive for longer than he could think back on. He’d had a cherubic cuteness to him in childhood that slowly matured into the defined features he now sported. No one had missed how well he’d grown into himself. At functions, Ignis would hear other nobles speaking fondly of Noctis’ looks, even lasciviously once the wine had been introduced into the fray. He’d heard the girls at Noctis’ school gushing over how cool they thought he was, how handsome they thought he was, and the like, as they walked from the building at school day’s end. He’d even heard crownsguard and kingsglaive commenting on Noct’s beauty. Ignis had eyes, he could see for himself how right they were. But he’d never considered the possibility of _being attracted_ to his prince. He’d never entertained the thought of seeing him as a sexual entity, as someone who could be touched and pleasured, and who could offer pleasure in return.

At night, when Ignis found himself leaning against his shower wall with one hand as the other rubbed furiously over his erection at thoughts of Noctis’ sweat soaked skin, he never considered until then that he might want to be the one touching the prince.

-o-o-o-o-

It was a…surprise, to say the least, when Ignis learned that Noctis returned his feelings. Admittedly, not as satisfying to hear it from an exasperated Gladio who’d complained a little too vigorously over their ‘pining’ for one another, but the wave of elation that passed through Ignis at the shield’s words had muted the irritation at being poked fun at for his ‘sappy teen romance novel bullshit’ (in Gladio’s words).

He’d tried to look at the situation critically, fully aware of the stigma that came with holding a relationship with a prince. He was male, first of all, and could bear Noctis no heirs. He might have been nobility but his position was that of an underling to the prince, and neither the council nor the king may approve. He was older than Noctis and should have been setting examples for him, not influencing him with his own feelings. He was not worthy of someone such as Noctis, someone who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and still smiled every day…not counting his daily rituals of whining and pushing vegetables off of his plate, but Ignis figured he’d grow out of that eventually. His flaws never devalued him as a person, a good person, a caring one who went out among his people and volunteered his services not because he felt he had to, but because he wanted to. A person who took falls for others and pushed himself where he knew it counted most. A person Ignis didn’t really deserve.

Yet when Noctis, who had received the same ‘informational’ rant from Gladio earlier that day, pulled Ignis to his level and kissed him, Ignis found himself unable to form thoughts at all. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his prince and kissed him back.

Their relationship from there was tentative. There had been shy touches, timid brushes of fingers, hesitant kisses and a lot of awkward stuttering. On both of their parts. Ignis had never felt more the fool when those happened. After all, he’d known Noctis almost his entire life. He could talk to the prince easily. They held no secrets nor hang ups. They’d shared their everything with each other, be it personal space, dreams, ideas, hopes. They’d seen each other at their most vulnerable. How was it that starting a new relationship suddenly regressed their familiarity into flushed faces, ducked heads and an inability to meet eyes? How was it that holding hands became difficult when, only a few years ago, they’d reached for each other easily? It wasn’t as if they were embarrassed of each other. But neither of them knew what to do with the new level of intimacy they were experiencing with one another.

Not that it stopped them from trying. Their words may have been stuttered, but they were said. Their kisses may have been halting, but they were had. Their touches may have been shy, but they were felt. And slowly but surely they found themselves growing comfortable with their new relationship. They found their words growing bolder, and the meeting of their lips more forceful. They started to experiment more, pulling themselves out of their comfort zones to experience the exaltation of their closeness. To taste the sweet saltiness of one another’s skin, to feel the smoothness of one another’s flesh, gripping their fingers into the softness of the other as they peaked together. Feeling the sparks of pleasure as they undulated together, the shivers that raced up their spine when one was inside the other. They learned through doing. Where their first time had been quick, slippery and embarrassingly short, they’d slowly built their experiences into the intense sessions their lovemaking had later become.

As they lay tangled together in the afterglow, Ignis reflected on just how interesting his life had become.

-o-o-o-o-

It hit like a ton of bricks, learning the news that Noctis was to be married.

There had been an emergency council meeting pulled together so that the parties that had been absent for the Niflheim Chancellor’s proposal could be filled in. Noctis sat at the head of the table with his father, both Ignis and Gladio standing behind him, as the treaty’s terms were laid out. The loss of land and provisional titles awarded to the royal family were already disgusting displays of disrespect. That the empire felt so bold as to take all of Lucis from the very kings it belonged to was as revolting as it was expected. But that was exactly it. These terms made sense. An arranged marriage did not. Lady Lunafreya Nox Fleuret was a Tenebraen princess whose position in the empire was more that of a piece of property (ugly as the term was) than an asset. She only lived because the people would revolt if their oracle was killed, and tensions were already high after the death of Queen Sylva. Other than her ability to keep the peace, she was of no use to the empire. And so marrying her to Noctis gained them nothing. Were she Aldercapt’s granddaughter, her claim to the Lucian throne would have given her children, and subsequently the empire, complete control of the kingdom and the crystal’s power. But as a Tenebraen princess, her union with Noctis was nothing more than an easy ticket for the oracle out of her prison.

And truly, Ignis held no ill will towards Lady Lunafreya. But he felt the world dropping out from under him at the thought of her marrying Noctis and it left him almost dizzy, his teeth clenched as he tried to hold onto his neutral expression. Noctis had not looked back at him once, only nodding solemnly when his father had delivered the news. He’d known since he was young that he would be told who to marry. That whoever he married would have to be a woman of high standing who could provide to him a child to carry on the royal line, or what was left of it now that Niflheim had all but stripped it of its power. Ignis had known this as well. He’d reasoned himself into protesting a relationship with the prince because of this knowledge. It hadn’t mattered in the end when his heart won out and he’d given into his love for the prince, but looking back on it now perhaps he should have left well enough alone. It might have eased the pain of losing Noctis to someone else without ever getting to put up a fight. In fact, there would have been nothing to lose.

It was only later that night that he’d learned just how poorly Noctis had actually taken to the news. When he’d held onto the shaking frame of the prince as Noctis clung to him, voicing his frustrations through quivering words and distressed sniffles.

“I don’t want to marry her,” he’d mumbled into Ignis’ collar. Ignis ran his fingers through Noctis’ hair in an attempt to sooth him, despite the whirlwind of emotions he could only barely hold back. He placed a peck at the crown of the prince’s head, squeezing him tighter as he promised to stay with him through it all. As he promised not to leave him. It was all he could do, really. Stay by Noct’s side. Even if it meant he could no longer do so as an equal.

-o-o-o-o-

There’d been a strange hold put on their relationship when they’d set out on their road trip. Strange in that Ignis had thought it would be permanent.

At first the thought of resuming where they left off hadn’t crossed either of their minds. There was too much going on. The crown city had been attacked, the king had been murdered and both prince and oracle were pronounced dead. The group had been unable to reenter the city, the checkpoint having been blockaded by the empire, and so they’d only been able to view the damage from afar. It slowly started to hit home that their lives were gone. They were going to Altissia for a small excursion, a wedding and a honeymoon before the inevitable move back into the citadel. A wedding and a honeymoon that wasn’t happening anymore. There was to be no celebration in the streets as the joining of king and oracle symbolized a new era of peace. There was to be no continuation of their daily lives and activities, no more Noctis and Prompto going to the arcade or Gladio taking his sister to functions she wasn’t allowed to visit on her own, or Ignis building connections in his university circles. No more learning to be the perfect advisor. Now he was flung into the role and expected to run, and here he was still stumbling. Still watching helplessly as Noctis broke down, as Cor set them on their path before they lost themselves.

He’d tried to keep a steady head as they traveled. He drove the Regalia frequently to keep himself occupied, collected ingredients for new recipes to work on when he found himself with too much free time, took care of the other three as he knew they needed someone to keep them grounded. He tried not to think about his friends suffering the loss of their homes and possibly their lives during the attack. He tried not to think about the likelihood of his uncle’s death, who would have otherwise called him to ensure his safety were he still alive. He tried not to think about the deaths of Noctis and Gladio’s fathers, or the silence from Prompto’s parents, or the mystery surrounding the wellbeing of both Lady Lunafreya and Iris. He tried not to wallow in what-ifs, lamenting on what could have been done if only he’d _known_.

It had come to him as a surprise then when Noctis had found Ignis at the edge of the haven, sitting down at his side and leaning into him. Neither of them spoke for a moment. The only sounds of the campsite were the crackling of the fire and the soft breathing of the two men outside of the tent, the inside silent as Prompto and Gladio had likely gone to sleep. Ignis wasn’t entirely sure how they _could_ sleep with all that happened. They were out in the wild with no clue as to what they were doing, only following the flow of events as they happened and hoping nobody else died along the way, with the far off goal of taking back the crystal and reclaiming Insomnia. A goal that seemed near impossible as they struggled to make it to the next morning each day. It was no wonder that Noctis would eventually find his way out of the tent, likely in hopes of finding a solitary space to think.

“I can leave if you’d like,” Ignis had told him. Noctis lifted his head from the advisor’s shoulders, his eyes almost frantic.

“What? Why the hell would you leave?! You can’t—I don’t want you to—”

Ignis realized the error in his words as Noctis stumbled over his protests, holding up a hand to calm his prince.

“I don’t mean permanently. Of course not, I promised didn’t I?”

Noctis mouth had snapped shut then as he nodded. His shoulders slumped, his brow relaxing and his head drooping. Ignis placed fingers on his chin, lifting his face again so that they could hold eye contact.

“I only meant that I could go back to the tent if you needed time to gather your thoughts.”

The prince considered his advisor for a moment, watching him with wide, glassy eyes. He didn’t cry, he’d been doing plenty of that and the tears had likely run dry now, but it was clear how difficultly he was handling the events of the past few weeks. He’d reached up and pulled Ignis’ hand away, clutching it tightly as he pressed his face into the older man’s shoulder.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he’d said. “This is fine. Just stay here.”

None of it was fine. But Ignis would stay anyway.

Always

-o-o-o-o-

Life on the road wasn’t quite so bad once the quartet had caught their bearings. Reassured with the reunion with Iris in Lestallum, the recollection of the Regalia after it had been left to the mercy of the empire, and the support of two of the gods themselves, the group found themselves confident and experienced. Their trials and battles had sharpened them, leaving their mark on every opponent they engaged. They often found themselves on hunts trying to keep their money and supplies up, knowing that these things would come in handy when they found themselves in sticky situations. And they wouldn’t deny themselves the occasional splurge on a hotel room after a few days of camping. After all, it wouldn’t do to go out hunting and finding royal arms without proper rest in actual beds.

And Ignis couldn’t deny himself the pleasing prospect of having some privacy with Noct. They’d allowed their feelings to re-kindle in the wake of the cancelled wedding and the confidence boost that came with every step closer to their goal, slowly but surely. They weren’t entirely sure how the other two had figured it out, not that they hid it very well when they thought about it, but the knowledge of their relationship had earned them their own room on a few occasions.

It was an opportunity that was easily put to good use.

They’d become more comfortable with being open with their relationship as well. With the ability to blend into crowds, their titles inconsequential in the world outside the crown city, they’d been able to hold hands in public now. To press within each other’s personal space without raising eyebrows. Well…most eyebrows. The jesting glances of their other two friends, meant only to tease and not to insult, had not gone unnoticed. Noctis huffed and rolled his eyes about it, but Ignis could tell he found no issue with the teasing. If anything, he only seemed happier that he no longer had to hide.

Ignis was too.

-o-o-o-o-

Everything had gone wrong quickly.

Everything.

Altissia, the empire, the train, Zegnautus, the crystal.

Everything was very wrong.

Ignis couldn’t see, couldn’t think straight…

Barely felt like himself…

Needed a cane to get around, stumbling across terrain as he’d listened to his king and king’s shield squabble.

He’d told them off in a fit of frustration he’d almost regretted if it weren’t for the fact that it actually shut them up.

Prompto had helped keep him on his feet, the only thing to ground him as he listened to Noctis fall into a downward spiral. One he couldn’t even watch. He couldn’t even stop it because he was confused and stressed and _in pain_.

Gods it hurt so much. A phantom ache. He couldn’t even assess the damage because he _couldn’t fucking see it_. That was all he knew. He couldn’t see. And it hurt.

He knew…what did he know? What did he even know anymore?

That Lunafreya was dead? That Noctis was depressed and overworked and his mourning had grated on Gladio over the weeks until he’d snapped? That they’d lost Prompto to a trick, one he didn’t even know the details of and _that irked him_ because he _didn’t fucking know what was going on_ , and he had to brave the imperial keep with only Gladio to rely on. Not that the shield was unreliable, not at all, but the entire situation had put Ignis on edge. When he’d heard the voice on the tape, he’d felt his hope rise only to have it dashed when it was revealed that they weren’t hearing Noct, but Ardyn in disguise.

Another fucking trick.

It was a whirlwind of activity that brought them to the real Noctis, caught in a trap that raised the hairs on the back of Ignis’ neck for reasons unknown, the only sounds meeting his ears being that of a strange buzzing beneath the prominent shouts of Noctis and Gladio. They found Prompto shortly after and were met with the scourge-infected corpse of Ravus.

A regrettable thing, in Ignis’ opinion. Ravus didn’t deserve what had happened to him in the end, despite everything he’d done.

They’d finished him off as quickly as possible, wanting to give him the mercy of a swift death.

They’d sent Noctis to the crystal as the room filled with daemons, the sounds of their cries echoing in Ignis’ ears, in hopes that the light would purge the creatures from existence.

They expected to find their young king wielding the power of the crystal when they followed after him, ready to destroy what was left of the empire for good as he took his kingdom back.

Instead they were met with his terrified screams as he was dragged into the glowing rock, the sounds of gunshots and sword swings as the other two attacked Ardyn. Ardyn who had stood in that room and watched as Noctis was taken away.

The world was plunged into darkness that day.

For everyone else, at least.

For Ignis, it had long since been.

-o-o-o-o-

It was interesting how well Ignis took to the darkness. After a lot of hard work and concentration, that was. He’d started off weakly stumbling around, unsteady as a toddler as he tried to find his legs. He needed help to get everywhere, wasn’t allowed to walk around on his own, let alone cook or hold a weapon. He shamefully admitted that after a while it had grated on him enough to explode on his friends. Losses in composure like that were unbecoming, and well… Well, they didn’t really deserve that. He’d quickly apologized. They understood, they’d told him, they knew it was hard for him.

How they could possibly understand the extent of Ignis’ affliction was beyond him. How could they possibly know how terrifying it was being subjected to constant, everlasting darkness? He’d spent his entire life relying on his eyes. Now they were taken from him as fleetingly as the breath of an exhale.

But he didn’t want pity. He didn’t want sympathy, or sorrowful sighs, or pats on his back. He didn’t want to have to rely on others for the rest of his life. He’d be no use to anybody, not his friends, not Noctis and certainly not himself if he let himself remain the burden. He’d worked hard for everything he earned in life. He studied vigorously to receive that special education, trained himself in domestic skills in order to become a proper chamberlain, learned the ins and outs of court so as to properly advise, and had worked hard at improving his weapons proficiency so as to join the crownsguard when he turned eighteen. He could work hard to become his own person again. It’d be like learning to walk, except he would come out of his crawl sprinting. He promised himself that.

He picked up a spatula and started cooking. The smell of burning food didn’t deter him. The worried notes in Prompto’s voice as he watched him guess the wrong spices when he’d sniffed at them didn’t deter him. The quiet rejection Gladio gave to his earliest attempts, accompanied by the loud expressions of digust from Cid, didn’t deter him. In months, he’d gotten back to his quality of cooking in high school. In a couple years he’d reached the quality he had achieved at age twenty. Within eight years, he’d surpassed his previous abilities.

He picked up a dagger and started throwing. A few of the hunters had helped direct him, molding his stance so as to take full advantage of his throws. Gladio and Prompto and sometimes even Aranea offered to spar with him to keep him on his toes. The first few tries had been disastrous and Ignis ended up with a few more scars to add to his repertoire. Eventually, however, he started to make fewer and fewer mistakes. Even Cor had started to lend his blade to practice at this point, correcting Ignis on imperfections in his form and walking him through new maneuvers that would not be hindered by his blindness. The marshal had worked with disabled crownsguard before, men and women who had been subjected to injuries that, anywhere else, would have lost them their jobs. Ignis was eternally grateful for the help he received. It boosted his confidence when he started practicing on his own, or finding sparring partners that didn’t know him personally, wouldn’t have recognized his attack patterns and wouldn’t have held back. It had taken him months to stop being thrown straight on his ass. It had taken a few years for him to start winning consistently. It had taken nearly ten years to become one of the top hunters in Lucis.

It had also taken nearly ten years for his king to return. He’d spent every second preparing for that moment. When it finally came…it was as if the world had fallen out from under Ignis all over again. It was a good feeling that time.

At first.

-o-o-o-o-

The king was an interesting person. Not at all what Ignis expected. He thought he might see a fresh-faced twenty year old return to them, preserved in the abyss of the crystal as if a statue immune to the effects of time. A rather ludicrous notion, after all there was nothing to suggest Noctis wouldn’t age, but it had been a thought that lingered at Ignis’ mind all the same. The image of a young Noctis, barely clambering his way into adulthood, was all Ignis had to go off of. It was the last image he had of his prince…his _king_ in his mind. The last sight he had ever seen of the young man. He expected a young voice to meet his ears, easy going and carefree despite the heavy burdens he was born with. He expected the soft touch of smooth, youthful hands with only the calluses of heavy weapon usage marring their otherwise perfection. He expected those thin fingers to slip between his own in a tentative sweetness, an unnecessary nervousness that belied his inexperience and yet at the same time his hopeful eagerness.

What he got was not the Noctis he remembered. A rough, aged, _tired_ voice met his ears, deepened with sorrow and hardened with regret. Quiet in a way foreign to Ignis. Not in sleepiness or boredom, but in resignation. His face was not the smooth, youthful skin Ignis expected to feel under his fingertips, but the rough texture of a beard and the lines of stress that deepened with every change in expression. His hands were now creased with old scars and the lingering effect of the ring’s magic, his fingers clinging to Ignis’ with a desperation he’d never felt nor seen, a last attempt to grasp life in his hands before it was unfairly taken from him. A determination to feel Ignis there, to hold on to him before he lost everything.

When they kissed, it felt familiar and foreign all at once.

Ignis stroked his digits through too long hair, pushing it out of Noctis’ face as they were joined. He felt Noctis’ mouth move against his with a force of a man clinging to the last vestiges of life, almost sucking the air from Ignis’ lungs. His hands found their familiar handles on Ignis’ skin, stroking at his sensitive spots, brushing against his neck, gripping into his hair and pulling. And though the two were pressed together so tightly, it felt as if Noctis couldn’t have been further away.

When they’d rested for the last time, when they’d said their goodbyes, when they’d parted ways, Ignis listened to the somber footsteps of his charge as he walked toward his destiny. He’d bowed to his king, vowed to buy him as much time as he could, and turned to face the last of the daemons before Noctis’ light burned the scourge away, revealing the sun for the first time in ten years. He’d released his weapon when the warmth hit him, saturating his entire being. He’d fallen to his knees, refusing to stand even when Gladio and Prompto moved beside him, placing empathetic hands on his shoulders. He didn’t raise his head until he felt the rays of dawn upon his skin. The last gift his king, his charge, his lover and his best friend had to offer to the world.

He looked up to the sky with unseeing eyes and he cried.


End file.
